Dear one,
Recently I was reminded of Neil Armstrong’s walk upon the moon, which surely must be the quirkiness of my mind: Why in mid-winter would I be thinking of July 20, 1969? Why indeed? Nonetheless, at that time I recall the wonder so many of us felt—this wasn’t simply an American achievement, but a human accomplishment, promising yet further and greater discoveries—literally, the heavens were the limit.
And yet, at that time some wondered: Just what did we achieve? And now over fifty years later, some continue to wonder: Just what did we achieve? Yes, we rocketed three to the moon, as we have subsequently; and yes, marvelous, new conveniences have been added to our lives (including computers and the internet); and yet, with Armstrong's first, tentative step, was there not a promise of a new and different world? We have walked on the moon, but the skeptics among us note: we discovered desert-like wastes … and utter silence. And since Armstrong’s first step, we have continued to witness the rise and fall of this tyrant and that despot; the ebb and flow of decimating diseases and hunger; and genocide, which often accompany both diseases and despots.
I wonder, perhaps we’re not asking the most helpful question. Perhaps it’s not a question of what we do or do not achieve—that is, that our achievements or our lack thereof accurately define or characterize us. Perhaps we do well to ask and to answer the question: Who are we? as did the ancient, Hebrew psalmist. Instead of using our capabilities as a measure, he first looked beyond:
“When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars that you have established;
what are human beings that you are mindful of them,
mortals that you care for them?” (Psalm 8:3-4)
In truth, why care for us at all? And yet the psalmist did not resort to a false pessimism or an equally false optimism, but recognized that we are most wonderfully and, I think, most accurately perceived in relationship to the One, who is the Source of everything. The psalmist and his generation, as no doubt each succeeding generation has, looked to the heavens with wonder—but his wonder was not a prod for action but for relationship. Only in relationship with the Creator of all, can we then affirm with the psalmist:
“[You] have made [us] a little lower than God,
and crowned [us] with glory and honor” (8:5).
Remarkable was that first step upon the moon; far more remarkable is our being created for relationship.
Wondering,
Stan